


Confidence Men

by Mort_Harris



Category: Gravity Falls, Homestuck
Genre: Brief Xenological Digressions For The Sake Of Humor, Crack, Crime, Fluff, Gen, Intergenerational Friendships, Self-Esteem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:39:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6186220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mort_Harris/pseuds/Mort_Harris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan Pines wasn’t expecting to find an orange-horned alien in the woods one Summerween night, and he certainly wasn’t expecting to end up teaching it pickpocketing and valuable life lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confidence Men

It was a lazy Sunday morning, and Stan Pines relaxed on the porch with a Pitt cola in one hand and a hand of cards in the other. He’d been attempting to teach the kids how to play poker, and, more importantly, how to cheat. He went all in, attempting to disguise with sheer confidence the fact that one of his cards was a piece of newspaper with “ACE” written on it.

“Fold,” sighed Dipper. “I’m not risking it. The last time you did that, we thought you were bluffing and you pulled a straight flush out of your sleeve.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna trust your judgment here, bro,” said Mabel. “Fold.”

Stan smiled and reclaimed the stack of chips. “Smart kids,” he said, popping a salt-and-vinegar one into his mouth (Stan hadn’t been able to find his actual chips, and games were always better when you could eat the pieces). “Never go up against a guy you know is going to cheat.”

 

Something jostled him in his sleeve, and as he went to surreptitiously tap the card back down, he saw its purple back, and with it, a sudden rush of memory. He dealt the cards again, paying close attention to the little marks he’d made on the back.

“Apropos of nothing, kids, have I ever told you about the time I found an alien in the woods?” he asked.

“You found an alien?!” they chorused. Dipper’s notebook was out in a flash, presumably poised to record any interesting xenological tidbits; Mabel took advantage of the distraction to sneak a look at his hand, something Stan noted with pride.

“Yyyup. So, you kids up for a boring grunkle story?”

“Is this going to be one?” asked Mabel.

“Nope!” said Stan, and launched into his tale.

 

“So, I’m walking in the woods one Summerween night a couple years ago, looking for children to terrorize, when all of a sudden, I see a green light off through the trees. Naturally, I head towards it, because hey, it could be Daisy Buchanan. But as I get closer, it becomes apparent that it is not a Long Island dock light. It’s a big … snake statue, with an open mouth full of green light. It makes a noise like an angsty teenager and slides slowly back into the ground as I approach, and that’s when I see what’s lying on the ground in front of it.

“I see grey skin, a thick ridge of black hair on the spine, huge bull horns the color of candy corn, orange claws, and, yeah, I’m reaching for my brass. But then it lifts its head, and while it’s got a mouth full of fangs and big golden snake eyes, its face is, well … it’s a kid face. The thing looks like a human boy, your guys’s age – heck, it’s even wearing clothes – and those big old snake eyes give me a pleading look before it passes out.

“I put my brass knuckles back in my pockets and put my hands on my hips, muttering to myself, ‘Well, ol’ Pinester, this is one heck of a cucumber you’ve gotten yourself into.’ I hoist the unconscious creature onto my back and make tracks for the shack.”

 

“Once I get home, I lay the thing on the table and take a look at it. It really does look just a kid with some weird features tacked onto it, as well as a couple of nasty burns. I do the best I can to clean its brown-bleeding wounds and patch it up. The thing wakes up about an hour after I finish, and gives a start when it sees me, muttering ‘Oh no oh no oh no ohno ohnononono …’

“‘’Scuse me, kid?’ I say.

“‘N-no! You’re not – this – this isn’t – you’re not supposed to be here! A-and I’m, I’m, look at me, I ca-can’t … happy thoughts, happy thoughts, Pupa Pan, happy thoughts …’

“‘What are you babblin’ about, kid?’

“‘If you’re going to be culled, Nitram, do it with dignity, be brave, be brave, be brave like Rufio, you always knew this would happen one night or another …’

“‘… Either that word means something I don’t think it means, or you’re suggesting I’d kill someone I’d just gone to the trouble of patching up. Calm your appendages, kid; you’re safe.’

“‘Y-you did this?’ it says, looking at its bandages. ‘You’re an adult! And I’m c-cullbait! A-and, you’re, uh, an alien. Oh Mother Grub, you’re an alien!’ It looks up at me, terrified.

“‘I’m sorry, kid, but you’re not making sense. First of all, I may be grown up, but I’m not an adult by any sense of the word. Second of all, I think you’re technically the alien here. And third, I don’t see why you oughtta be scared of any of that.’

“‘I’m … on an alien planet?’

“‘Well, I sure as heck haven’t seen anything like you on _this_ planet, so I’m going with “yes”.’

“‘Oh,’ it says, and looks away. ‘On my planet, an adult would, uh, probably kill a kid they came across, and we’re, uh, not taught to think the best of other species.’ I don’t really know what to say to this, but the thing continues, suddenly smiling at me. ‘I always knew they were wrong!’”

 

“I chuckle. ‘Well, glad to hear it, er …’

“‘I’m Tavros. Tavros Nitram.’ It sticks out its hand.

“I give it my firmest honest-guy handshake. ‘Stan. Stan Pines. Nice to meet you, Mister Nitram. Or Miss Nitram; you’re an alien, who knows what you are? Or …’

“‘It’s Mister.’

“I nod. ‘So, Mr. Nitram, how’d you end up here on Planet Earth?’

“‘I’m – I’m not entirely sure. I was just, uh, adventuring in the woods. It was getting late and the sun was, uh, about to come up, so I was looking to, uh, go back to my hive, when I found a weird … snake statue thing. I briefly touched it, and, uh, it sucked me off my four-wheel device, and then I was falling through a swirling tunnel of burning rainbows. I think there were angels?’

“‘Angels?’

“‘Y’know, uh, big feathery evil snakes?’

“‘That’s not what angels look like over _here_.’

“‘Well, you _are_ an alien.’

“‘You’re the alien here, remember? Speaking of which, how the dink are you speaking English?’

“‘English? Is that your language? I, uh, thought you were speaking Alternian, which doesn’t make much sense, now that I come to think of it …’

“‘Okay, wait. You look humanlike, bar a few extraneous features, your language is the same as mine, you fell through a “rainbow tunnel” … I don’t think you’re from another planet. I think you’re from Earth in another reality. You can trust me; I may not know much about space travel, but I do have a little experience with crossing the borders of reality.’

“‘You do?’

“‘The 70’s were a dark time, kid. Leaving that aside, you’re a kid stranded in the dimensions, and … I feel I oughta help you. This shack’s full of odd stuff; it’s how I make my living, showing people the weird and unnatural. You should fit right in here. I mean, if you want to move on and try to find your way back to your dimension yourself, I ain’t stopping you, but I’ll let you stay here if you give me a hand around the place, maybe help with the exhibits.’

“‘I, uh, don’t really think I have a better option, do I?’

“I grin. ‘Glad to have you here, Mr. Nitram.’

 

“I rub my hands together. ‘So, Mr. Nitram! Got any freaky alien powers to share? Or bizarre alien technology? I’m not just helping you out of the goodness of my heart,’ I lie, ‘I want information. I’m not running a Wayward Aliens Charity Shelter here; I’m running a Mystery Shack, and an alien is going to bring in all the rubes. All of them.’

“Tavros laughs. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘you just, uh, reminded me of my friend for a moment. But, um … I don’t know what you’d think is freaky or bizarre. Do you, uh, have sylladex technology? Husktops? Grubloaf? Psychics?’

“‘Only the last one, kid, and here they’re all liars. What the hot Belgian waffles is a sylladex?’

“‘This!’ He holds up his left wrist, and I see what looks like the child of a grub and a flashdrive wrapped around it like a bracelet. ‘It, uh, converts matter into computer information, and stores your stuff in a computer so, uh, you’re not weighed down by it all.’ He motions with his left hand, and he pulls what looks like a baby jousting lance out of thin air as the grub glows slightly. As an expert in the field, I know that he can’t have palmed it; I’m impressed, and I say as much.

“‘Thank you,’ he says.

“‘Hey, I can already think of so many uses for that thing. A stage magic act’s just the first step! What kind of range can you store things in it from? How big can the objects be?’

“‘Huh? Oh, I, uh, have to be touching it, and it’s, uh, mass-based. This sylladex has 128 kilograms of memory …’

“‘Still, that’s fantastic! Think of the possibilities! I could definitely use this.’

“‘How?’

“‘What was that about psychics?’ I say, changing the subject.

“‘Oh!’ Tavros perks up. ‘Well, uh, some lowbloods have telekinesis, and there are a few highbloods who can, uh, do mind control. And then there are lowbloods like me, who can control animals!’ He looks across to the axolotl tank, assumes an expression of concentration, and the axolotl begins to do water ballet. Once again, I’m beginning to get ideas, and a grin creeps across my face. ‘Alright, then, Mr. Nitram … you rest up, and let me get to work.’

 

“‘Step Right Up! Step Right Up, Ladies And Gentlemen! This Week Only: _The Secrets Of The Cosmic Races, Unveiled! Behold_ Amazing Extraterrestrial Artifacts! _Explore_ Their Startling Technology! _Gaze_ Upon Their Startling Countenances; _View_ Their Astounding Displays Of Power! And _See_ , Today At Three O’Clock, A Showcase Of Their Native Arts!’ I announce in my best carny voice.

“Tavros has very obligingly emptied his sylladex for me earlier that morning, a little groggily as he adjusts from portal-lag (apparently, his species is nocturnal). I’ve set up some of his artifacts with informative placards, most of which I’ve made up on the spot. The rubes have gobbled it up. A ‘husktop’ turns out to be a teal-colored laptop computer made out of chitin or something; I’ve set it upside-down and claimed it’s a portable sacrificial altar. The little lance, which Tavros has said is a game prop, becomes a ‘royal vendettificator’, used by nobles to dispatch each other in their petty squabbles; likewise, the weird multicoloured orbs, also game props, I’ve called ‘nutriment husks’, formulated with advanced technology to contain all the nutrients necessary for alien development – but deadly poisonous to humans.

“I continue my patter as the rubes take their seats for the three o’clock showing. I adjust my tie, smile, and launch into my speech. ‘For years, I’ve made a career of exploring the mysteries of the universe, but I never thought that Lady Luck would so favor me as to dump one of its citizens on my door. But recently, I came across one such being, having crashed and burned in transit from the far-off planet of Alternia, in the very woods behind this shack. I contained it and nursed it back to health, despite the great danger involved in so doing – avoiding its razor-sharp fangs, quite possibly envenomed; its rending claws, which nearly took my remaining eye; its goring horns, heavy and fierce; not to mention the advanced weaponry it still had in its possession, being of a fierce and bloodthirsty warrior race. It is only our planet’s stronger gravity that gave me the advantage, and why it now appears to you in its four-wheeled device – yes, it has deigned to appear now, for I won its grudging respect, and it is prepared to give you all a display of one of what I am assured is the finer art forms of the cosmos. Small children in the audience, avert your gazes from its fearsome physiognomy! Behold – the _troll!_ ”

“I give a signal to Soos, and he yanks open the curtain. Tavros scoots out slowly from behind it on a spare wheelchair from his sylladex; the reason he’d been talking about being ‘cullbait’ is that the Alternians are wacked-out enough to think paraplegia makes you useless. He gives the audience a sheepish wave and friendly smile, and pulls out some of his toys. ‘Uhhh, hi,’ he says, ‘I’m Tavros; thanks for having me. In, uh, the interests of, uh, interplanetary understanding, I’m going to show you the basics of one of our games, Fiduspawn. First, you take your host plush, and deploy an Oogonibomb …’

“It is at this point I realize I should have paid more attention to his patter than mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is ongoing; I don't have a set update schedule yet, but by posting it here, I'm hoping to force myself to actually finish the story. I'm going to try to have a second update up in two weeks. Thank you for reading!


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